Spike to the Rescue
by Anderida
Summary: Buffy is missing, Willow turns to Spike for help. And help he does, bless him.


**Spike to the rescue**

A broad shaft of bright afternoon sunlight entered Spike's sombre crypt, bringing a distressed, diminutive redhead in its wake.

"Spike, Spike, have you seen Buffy?" panted Willow.

"Christ, don't you people ever knock?" Spike stood up from his armchair where he had been deciding whether to watch television or plan for the night's demon hunt. Television was ahead by a short nose. "As a general rule," he continued, "only the undead or those actually burying corpses ought to visit crypts, or did you miss class the week they covered crypt etiquette?"

"Spike, I don't have time for this." cried a clearly agitated Willow. "Buffy's missing and I think something horrible has happened to her."

"Well, being a slayer and all, think she can take care of herself. See you around Red." Spike grinned and collapsed back into his chair, picked up a garish 'stars reveal all' TV guide and started flicking through the pages.

"You don't understand," panted Willow with frustration. "She spent the night at Riley's and I went to meet her there as arranged, but Riley said she'd already gone, but he was acting really weird, kinda vague, like he was out of it, not really there, you know, and he said he couldn't remember when she left or where she said she was going, and he didn't seem worried at all, and I can't find Buffy anywhere and I think something sinister has happened to her and…."

Spike jumped up again, his head cocked to one side, suddenly interested in Willow's ranting. "So you think lover boy has done away with her, eh?" he interrupted. "Nice one! Didn't know he had it in him." He smirked.

"No, no. You don't understand. It's not Riley. I think its magick. There was a sort of smell in Riley's room, like pepper and burnt rosemary." Willow subsided.

Spike raised his eyebrows with interest and involuntarily moved towards Willow, then stopped just short of the beam of sunlight that bisected this home. "Pepper and burnt rosemary? Are you sure?" His eyes narrowed and Willow thought for an instant she saw concern flicker across his pale face.

Willow started to reply "I can't be certain, I'm sure it's nothing really." Then she shook her head, looked down at the ground, and said quietly, "Yes, I'm sure."

The muscles either side of Spikes jaw tightened as he focused his stare on Willow's down-turned, and now he could see, tear-stained, face. "Come in" he mumbled, then louder, "and shut that bloody door".

With the door shutting out the daylight he moved to offer Willow the armchair he had been sitting in. She flopped into it and managed to look even smaller than she had before.

Willow began to explain to Spike that when Buffy hadn't been waiting for her that morning in the lobby of Riley's dorm building, she had gone up to Riley's room to knock for her. Riley answered the door, said Buffy had already left and seemed evasive. He couldn't say when she had gone or where to and he didn't seem concerned. At first Willow had thought they might have had a lover's tiff but her witch's senses were jangling telling her something else was wrong. As Riley was getting his books together for class, insisting that Buffy would be "around", Willow had stepped into the room and immediately the tang of pepper and burnt rosemary had hit her.

She didn't have to explain to Spike that this odour indicated a strong controlling spell. It was heavy, potent magic; the sort of powerful spell you would need to subvert a slayer's will. Spike had seen its effects before and knew that whoever had invoked this spell would have had total power over Buffy and could have easily commanded Riley to forget whatever had happened last night.

"This is serious black magic stuff, but it's not a permanent spell," Spike voiced his thoughts. "It means whoever did this took the slayer and is probably holding her prisoner somewhere. Who knows why, but at least you didn't find two dead bodies this morning so they obviously need the slayer alive". Spike thought this was good news but Willow paled another notch and let out a small "ooooh…" sound.

Spike's brain was racing. There was no-one in town who would have the power or the balls to kidnap the slayer. And this sort of magic suggested a major-league warlock, but warlocks would have no interest in a slayer; the two rarely crossed paths and a slayer was no threat to them anyway.

Then he had it! Aloysius! Part warlock, part Triksus demon, he would certainly have the skill and power to affect a controlling spell of this magnitude. And a Triksus demon, much like a vampire, was a blood-sucker, who could feed off the energies of a slayer to augment their already formidable powers. Plus, Aloysius would pick up _muchas_ brownie points for killing a slayer. "_Hey,_" Spike thought, "_that's my job_".

"I looked for her everywhere Spike," Willow was saying, barely pausing to breathe, "just in case I was wrong. But no-one's seen her. I tried to make looking for her sound all casual and unimportant so nobody knows she's gone yet 'cause I didn't want to worry anyone. I mean, Buffy's probably fine, right? But if she has disappeared people are bound to start asking questions soon. Oh, oh, except Riley," she added eagerly, "he came round to ask me to tell Buffy he's just been called to some army games, 'cause he's still a reservist, and he won't be back 'til the end of the week, so we don't have to worry about him yet, which is good I suppose, but what about Giles and Xander and …."

"Red," Spike interrupted gruffly, kneeling so he was looking directly into her scared, red-rimmed eyes. "Get a grip. I'll take care of this, I promise. I'm pretty sure I know who might be responsible for this. You've got to go back now and don't breathe a word to anyone. I've got to trust you on this Willow." He rarely used her given name and at its mention she focused, gulped and nodded grimly.

"Buffy will need you to keep it together Willow. Can you do that? For Buffy?" Willow nodded again.

"If anyone asks, tell them Buffy has gone to LA." Spike continued thinking quickly. "She's heard that that poor excuse for a vampire, Angel, may be in trouble and she's gone to check it out. She's not telling Angel she's there. She's just keeping watch from a distance, just like he did to her when he came to SunnyD to spy on her." Willow went to challenge the word 'spy' but stopped herself and nodded instead. "She'll be back in a few days. Ok?" Another nod from Willow.

Spike reached out and gripped Willow by the shoulders causing her to flinch. "Red, this is serious. I **will** find her and bring her home but the effects of this spell will take a while to wear off. I need you to keep this quiet at all costs, for Buffy's sake."

"She will be alright?" Willow asked in a small, shaky voice.

"I'll make sure of it Red. No-one comes to my town to take out the slayer." "_That's my job!_" he thought to himself again.

Just before nightfall, when Willow was calmer, she left to return to her dorm and spin the pretence that Buffy was in LA.

Spike immediately started searching through the chest of belongings Drusilla had left behind until he found what he needed; a necklace of heavy silver chain links. Ripping a thin corded tie from the curtains framing his half-tester bed, he began threading the crimson cord through each link in the necklace.

When the cord was completely threaded through the chain necklace, he used the ends of the cord to tie it around his waist like a bizarre hippy belt. It looked ridiculous and he grimaced at it as he put on his leather duster and headed down into the sewers.

Spike was angry. How could anyone have the audacity to come to his town to kill the slayer, much less a mongrel slime toad like Aloysius? Killing the slayer was down to Spike. And, ok, he hadn't managed it yet but as soon as this chip in has head ran out of batteries or just broke down like so many electrical appliances seemed to, the Big Bad would be back and he would make Buffy the third slayer to die at his hands. Kudos to Spike!

His pride was wounded to think that a shifty, half-breed demon would attempt to drain and kill the slayer, his slayer, under his very nose. She was _his_ to kill. It was only fair. She had plagued him since the day they met and part of him blamed her for Drusilla leaving him.

Well, he'd show everyone. He would rescue her from certain death at the hands of Aloysius so that he could savour killing her later himself. And boy, was he looking forward to that day. He thought of little else these days.

Spike was standing beside Aloysius before the warlock was aware that anyone had entered his makeshift lair.

"Geez, Spike. You made me jump. Long time no see." The warlock was taller and broader than Spike but not as muscular. Spike thought the expression 'gone to seed' had been invented for Aloysius. He had frizzy shoulder length hair, that might have once been black, was now a yellowing grey. His winkled face, as grizzled as his hair, grimaced into what passed for a smile, his eyes remaining hard and wary. "How'yer doing?"

"Mustn't grumble, mustn't grumble. How about you Al, life treating you ok?" Spike smiled back with equal sincerity, tilting his head enquiringly.

"Not so bad these days. Got mentioned in the warlock honours for services to spell research last year. How's Drusilla?"

"Dru and I separated a while back. But congrats on the honour, Al." Spike was taking in his surroundings.

Aloysius' home was a sparsely furnished subterranean cave about the size of a large Winnebago with three openings leading off of it. The first opening led to the sewers and was where Spike had entered. The two other doorways into the cave were furthest away from Spike and were shrouded in darkness as the two blazing torches that served as the only light in the lair were insufficient to penetrate the gloom at the back of the chamber.

Spike's vampire olfactory senses had followed a faint whiff of pepper and burnt rosemary to this lair and now he was assailed by the scent of slayer and another aroma he knew well; fear! He drew his tongue across his lips.

"Sorry to hear about you and Dru, Spike. Always thought you two had the perfect partnership." Aloysius looked suitably abashed.

Spike turned and mooched away from Aloysius, further into the lair as if the thought of Dru was upsetting. As he neared the darkened rear of the cave he felt Aloysius tense so he stopped and turned back to face him.

"No great loss." Said Spike with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "You find after the first century little things start to irritate and you realise its time to move on." He added quickly, "The sex was still great though," in case anyone should think the break-up was down to a failing on his part.

"Anyway Al," Spike continued, tipping his head to one side, "what brings you to SunnyD?" By now he knew that the slayer was somewhere through the doorway behind him on the right and he could smell her weakness and that she was near death. He threw a big, bright smile in Aloysius' direction.

"Nothing much. You know how it is, Spike. You get tried of one place, you move on to the next. This is only a stop-over really. Thought I might try LA again."

Aloysius moved back towards the front of the cave, nearer the torches and indicated to Spike to sit in the only seat in the lair, a battered Thirties bentwood and leather armchair. Aloysius himself perched, none too elegantly, on an up-turned wooden crate that had once held a case of best Californian Chardonnay.

"LA?" repeated Spike as he dropped into the armchair. He stretched languidly, linking his hands behind his head and sighing. "I hear they've been having trouble from some born-again ensouled vampire down there. Might be worth you checking him out while you're there - hear he has a thing against demons and needs taking down a peg or two."

"Might be fun at that," mused Aloysius raising his straggly eyebrows skyward as he considered this. "I heard a rumour that someone was targeting demons. Never thought of taking him on yourself?" His eyes fixed Spike with a stare that suggested he could have seen into Spike's soul, had he possessed one.

With a yawn and a further slump into what was left of the upholstery of the chair he was sitting in, Spike feigned indifference and mumbled, "Can't be arsed these days, Al."

Spike leaned forward conspiratorially and in a low voice continued, "I haven't been m'self lately. Been a bit preoccupied like, all this business with Dru, its put me off me game. Not got the heart for it, 'scuse the pun."

He sat back, "But it's damn good to see you Al. Nice to hear you're doing well, honours an' such."

The warlock visibly puffed up and beamed back at Spike clearly proud of his award. Spike pointed to another crate behind where Aloysius was sitting and asked, "Is that a case of wine? We ought to drink to your achievement, Al. How about we break open a bottle and toast your success?"

"Capital idea." Aloysius grinned. "Don't have any glasses though."

"Not a problem my old mate," said Spike rising and moving forward to place a hand on Aloysius' shoulder. He could smell the slayer on him. "What do you say to a bottle each?" Spike moved passed the warlock in the direction of the half empty wine crate. Each now had his back to the other.

"And you say you're off your game?" teased Aloysius. "Marvellous suggestion. A bottle each it is! Capital!"

Spike bent down to the crate and removed a bottle with one hand, chinking it against the other bottles as he set it down on the floor beside the crate. At the same time his other hand undid the knot securing his homemade belt. With the quietness and speed of movement that only a vampire could command he silently slipped the belt from his waist and, holding one end of the belt in each hand, he turned and was suddenly standing behind Aloysius. Before the warlock was even aware that Spike was now in his personal space, the vampire had slipped his makeshift noose around the warlock's wrinkled neck.

Aloysius made a move to stand up but Spike pressed his forearms firmly on his shoulders to hold him down as he tightened the strange strip of metal and cord that was now cutting in to the warlock's neck.

There was no time to gasp or flail or fight. Spike sensed the end was near and he bent down level with Aloysius' ear. "You pompous arse-wipe!" he spat. "Think you can come on to my turf and pull a stunt like this? The slayer is _mine_." He applied more pressure and continued "Oh, and in case you're wondering, the chain is silver, 'cause I know how hard it is to kill you fucking Triksus demons."

As he finished speaking Spike summoned his vamp face with the effort of one last tug. The cavern echoed to the unmistakable sound of flesh ripping and the satisfying snap of Aloysius' spine as the warlock's head parted company from his neck and rolled across the floor, coming to rest against the leg of the chair Spike had been sitting in moments before.

"Tosser," Spike breathed.

Pausing only to snatch a torch from its stanchion on the cavern wall, Spike sprinted through the doorway he had identified at the back of the cave. He stopped dead as the light he was carrying revealed a much smaller chamber containing nothing but a small, bloodied figure crouched on the floor and manacled to the wall. His senses told him it was the slayer but for a moment he didn't believe them.

"Slayer?" he asked quietly. She was naked and this startled him. "_Fucking pervert warlock,_" he thought to himself, then realised that she may have been in bed with Riley when she had been abducted, which probably explained her lack of clothing.

He bent down placing the torch carefully on the ground so as not to extinguish it. He lifted Buffy's chin and surveyed her face. "Buffy?" There was no hint of recognition in her eyes and she seemed unable to focus. Tell-tale marks on her neck and her weakened state showed that the Triksus demon in Aloysius had already drained her to the point of death.

The manacles that bound her snapped easily in Spike's hands. He figured more secure restraints had been unnecessary in her spell-induced stupor. Spike threw his leather duster on the floor, pulled off his black t-shirt and held it out to Buffy.

"Put this on, pet, my coat's too long for you. It might trip you up and we really need to get out of here quickly - I don't know if he has any minions working for him. We need to move."

Buffy remained inert on the floor curled up against her knees. "Sorry, love," Spike murmured as he lifted his t-shirt over her head and then pushed first one arm, then the other through the armholes. Standing behind her he pulled her to her feet, steadying her for a moment against his bare chest. Then, holding her upright with one hand, he pulled the t-shirt down to cover her bloodied body with his other hand.

"Can you walk?" No response. Spike pulled on his coat and began pushing her towards the main chamber. "Come on, love. We have to get out. If any of the warlock's mates come calling we'd be trapped back here". Buffy started to put one foot in front of the other but when he stopped pushing her she stopped too. "Buffy, love, we _have_ to go."

Moving into the main chamber, Aloysius' lifeless head lolled against the chair just in front of Buffy and she faltered and backed against the cave wall. Spike aimed a frustrated kick at the head, smashing it into the wall the other side of the cavern.

He continued to push Buffy on as far as the entrance to the sewers but it was slow going. "_Too slow,_" he thought to himself. He tried to lift her but she flinched and backed away. He saw fear and panic flare in her eyes. He held his hands up, his palms towards her. "Ok love, but you have to put a spurt on."

He moved ahead of her, turned and waited. She moved forward gingerly closing the gap between them until she was just beyond arms reach. Spike moved ahead again. She followed, stopping a few feet back. They continued like this through the sewers, tunnels and caves until they arrived at the basement entrance to Spike's crypt. The journey back had been painfully slow.

Once inside the crypt Buffy slumped to the floor; she had passed out. As Spike bent down to pick her up he noticed her bare feet were cut and bleeding. He lifted her gently on to his bed and sat down heavily next to her. Her skin was ghostly pale making the crimson of the cuts and abrasions that covered her body stand out more starkly. She had endured a vicious beating as well as being drained of her blood.

Spike was angered by the realisation that she had been beaten. It hadn't been necessary to hit her since the controlling spell would have rendered her compliant. It was overkill. The sort of thing he disliked Angelus for revelling in. Like shooting, or should that be torturing, fish in a barrel. Spike himself preferred a healthy well-matched fight and a swift kill.

He got up and climbed the wooden steps to the upper level of his crypt which served as a makeshift kitchen / lounge. He returned quickly wearing a fresh t-shirt, and carrying a bowl of warmed water and several pieces of torn towelling. Buffy's eyes were open now but failed to respond when he asked her how she was feeling.

"Lights are on, but nobody's home," he mumbled under his breath.

He sat beside her, placing the bowl on a small chest that served as a bedside table. Slowly and gently, he began to clean her wounds, those that he could see. He heard himself talking softly to Buffy, telling her not to worry, that he would take care of her, as he tenderly dabbed away the blood and dirt. She flinched occasionally; particularly when he touched her legs to clean the gashes and scrapes close to the bruises that marred the top of her thighs, but gave no other sign that she understood what was happening.

He changed the bloody water in the bowl several times as he worked patiently, ensuring each injury was attended to. When he had finished the wounds on her face, arms and legs he sighed. He moved to sit with his back against the plush tapestry that hung against the wall at the head of the bed. He gingerly sat Buffy up and started to lift the back of her t-shirt. A tremor shook her from head to toe.

"I have to do this, love." Spike whispered. "You have some bad cuts on your back. I need to clean them. I'll be as gentle as I can. Come on love."

He lifted the t-shirt up, easing the fabric away where it had stuck to her wounds. Her right shoulder was almost devoid of skin. Spike raised his eyebrows. To his expert eye it looked like she had been thrown across the cave, sliding across the rough rocky floor. All but comatose from the spell, she couldn't have protected herself.

"Have to take this off love, sorry," he explained as he eased the t-shirt over her head. She grasped the top firmly to her chest, her eyes still unfocused. "This is going to hurt, love," Spike murmured as he moistened a fresh strip of towelling and lightly touched it to the edge of her graze. She didn't move but tears rolled down her cheeks.

When he was finished cleaning her back he let her lean back on him for a few minutes while he contemplated how to go about cleaning her chest and stomach without freaking her out. Then, reaching across for the corner of the bedspread on which they were sitting, he wrapped the red quilted silk around her waist. He gently laid her back on the bed; she was still clutching his t-shirt across her breasts.

He began to clean the wounds on her stomach and neck. He was shocked to see the inflammation around the two puncture wounds to her jugular. "Christ, Buffy, what did that poxy demon do to you?" He knew Triksus demons did not have the cleanest of habits and that blood infections often proved fatal. He knew of only one way to treat such an infection.

He eased Buffy back into a sitting position facing him and looked deeply into her green eyes. _("Oh god, here goes.")_ "Buffy, your neck is infected. I need to clean the wound properly. Do you know what I'm saying?" Spike stared into her eyes checking for any kind of reaction.

"I need to open the wound to clean and disinfect it. I can only do this with my 'face' on. Vampire saliva works like an antiseptic. I'm sorry but I need to bite you. I won't hurt you, promise. D'you understand? Don't freak on me."_ ("Please understand.")_ Buffy's eyes briefly focused on his and he thought he saw the merest hint of acquiescence.

Pulling back from her slightly Spike slipped into his game face. He hesitated, expecting her to react against it but he realised she was looking at him calmly _("almost trustingly?")_. He moved towards her and she moved her head slightly to expose the puncture marks on her neck. She did understand. She closed her eyes as Spike positioned his mouth over the infected area and bit down with his sharp incisors as gently as he could but firmly enough to break the skin. He began to lap every trace of the poisoned blood, spitting out the rank tasting fluid into the bowl on the bedside table.

When he had finished, he slipped back into his human facade and moved back behind Buffy to support her and to preserve a little of her dignity. Gently prising the t-shirt from her grip he placed it back over her head and again helped her into it. He held a mug to her lips and she gulped down some water before he slowly eased her back down to lay on the bed.

Spike took another piece of damp towelling and moved towards Buffy's feet. "I have to do the soles of your feet now, pet," he explained. "They were ripped to shreds on our way here and we can't risk you picking up an infection from the sewers. It's ok love, it'll be over soon, then you can sleep."

Spike knelt alongside the bed and moved Buffy's legs to the edge of the mattress. He began by using the cloth to remove the worst of the muck and dried blood that caked the bottom of her petite feet. Under the dirt he found a mass of lacerations on both feet, some of them quite deep, and a particularly vicious gash on the ball of her left foot. "I need to disinfect these, love. Sorry."

Summoning his vamp face again, Spike began delicately licking Buffy's right sole. With small, tender caresses, his tongue moved slowly from her heel, down the length of her foot, and up to her toes. When each cut and graze had been cleansed carefully, Spike repeated the process with her left foot, being especially attentive to the jagged laceration he had noted earlier.

Spike marvelled that throughout the ordeal, Buffy had made no sound and had only flinched slightly once. With seven thousand nerve endings in each foot, he knew his treatment, as gentle as he had tried to be, would have caused her pain.

It was nearly daybreak when Spike finally rested his vamp face confident that all Buffy's wounds were now clean. He wrapped the crimson bedspread over her and sat alongside her. "Buffy, love," he whispered, "you're very weak and you need some sustenance. But you've lost too much blood. I daren't risk it yet. Later, when you're stronger, promise. Get some sleep now."

Spike wasn't sure if she understood but he didn't want to spell it out to her. She had been so drained that if she drunk from him now it might turn her. In cleaning her wounds he had tasted her blood.

He certainly didn't want to sire _her_. Perish the thought! But he recognised that without his blood she might not survive.

Spike was resting in his armchair trying to make sense of the last few hours. His mind was reeling. He was saving his nemesis from certain death. He had gently tended her wounds. Why? And the hell of it was; he felt good about helping her.

Seeing her vulnerable in the warlock's cave he had felt protective of her. What was that all about? First the emasculating chip, now he's playing Florence bloody Nightingale! Hey perhaps it's a side effect of the chip? Christ, keep this up and there will be two Angels in California. _Oh fuck!_

Lost in his reveries he started when he heard the door to his crypt creak open. Willow put her head around the door and asked in a concerned voice, "Did you find her, Spike? Is she alright?"

"Yes, yes, Red. Miss Summers is currently sleeping it off below."

"But she's ok, yes?"

Spike stood and faced Willow. "Look, Red, I won't lie to you, she's badly hurt." Willow's hand flew to her mouth but before she could bombard him with a barrage of senseless questions, Spike raised his hands, "Take it easy. She'll be ok in a few days. But there's something you can do to help Buffy if you want."

"Just tell me what to do Spike. Anything"

"Well, I can't get out just yet," Spike inclined his head towards the sunlight now streaming through the open door. "So if you could fetch in some food, perhaps some chicken soup, anything suitable for an invalid that can be micro-waved, that would be good. Oh, and she'll need some clothes, toiletries, that sort of thing 'cos she'll have to stay here for a few days."

"Oh ok, I can do that," Willow smiled, happier now that she had something practical to do. "I'll get straight on it and come back in my lunch break. Are you sure Buffy'll be ok?"

"Yes, yes, now go, Red, go" Spike ushered Willow out towards the door.

When Willow returned laden with groceries and a large holdall stuffed with enough clothes for a Caribbean cruise, she found Spike looking haggard and drawn. He thanked her, confirming that Buffy was still sleeping and that he didn't expect any change in her condition for several hours.

Willow wanted to see Buffy but didn't feel comfortable asking Spike if she could go down into his bed chamber. Instead she offered her assistance in any way and took her leave, promising to return after classes later that afternoon.

Spike, who had actually dropped off to sleep in the armchair before Willow's approach had jolted him awake, climbed down the steps to Buffy, carrying the holdall Willow had fetched. He found some cute pink pyjamas in the holdall and folded them neatly before placing them on the pillow alongside Buffy's head.

For several moments Spike looked down at the small, insignificant creature now sleeping in the basement of his crypt. He surveyed her golden hair, now dirty brown and matted, her battered face and her slight frame, dwarfed in his large double bed. Is this the legendary slayer who strikes fear into the hearts of vampires everywhere? She didn't look very fearsome now.

But there was something about her. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly, which was strange because his vamp senses were usually very clear. What exactly was he feeling? "_She's beautiful_" he marvelled. "_With everything she has been through she's still beautiful._" He climbed onto the bed, lay down alongside her and immediately fell asleep.

Willow came back in the early evening as she had promised. Spike led her down to see Buffy, who was still asleep; warning her not to be upset by the state Buffy was in. Willow _was_ upset, and Spike had to put a lot of effort into reassuring her that her friend would be back to her old self in a matter of days.

Back in Spike's 'lounge', Spike and Willow talked for over an hour. He gave her a sanitized account of Buffy's rescue, while she regaled him with the comings and goings of the Scoobies, the conclusion of which was that everyone had accepted the story of Buffy leaving for LA.

When he was alone, Spike climbed down to his basement and sat next to Buffy, watching her intently. He found himself stoking her forehead as if to comfort her, but in reality he knew he was comforting himself. His thoughts tumbled over and over in his head. He should want the slayer dead. A true vampire wouldn't care who did the deed as long as she died. Why did it matter to him? And was he really saving her for the opportunity to kill her himself? He couldn't even convince himself of this now. He didn't understand what was wrong with him.

In the early hours of the morning Buffy awoke. Spike was laying next to her but he had not been asleep. As soon as he heard her stirring he lifted himself up on to his elbow and softly called her name. He heard her quietly breathe his name questioningly.

"Yes, I'm here Buffy. It's ok now you're going to be fine. Just got a bit banged up is all. Soon be right as rain." He leaned in towards her as she fought to focus her eyes.

"Where am I?" she mumbled and her brows knitted together in confusion.

"Chez Spike, love," came the answer. "You're safe here, no need to fret." Buffy tried to sit up and winced in pain. "Hold on old girl, let me help." Spike knelt near her head, lifted her forward and arranged some pillows behind her so that she was sitting up. She looked completely bewildered and lost.

Spike took a deep breath. "Look love, you've been in a bit of a scrap and you got hurt. Trikus demon half-breed used a strong spell on you, so you might feel a bit groggy for a day or two. Thing is, well, you're very weak just now." Buffy's hand shot up to her neck and her fingers found the tell-tale puncture wounds. Her eyes widened and Spike could almost taste her fear. He continued quickly, "It's ok, honest love, it's just made you a bit weak is all."

He took another deep breath. ("_Oh god, this is hard."_) "Look Buffy there's something you have to do. I know you won't want to, but you have to. You need sustenance. It won't hurt and it's safe, I promise you, but if you want to be well you must do it. Do you understand?" He knew by the stunned way she had looked at him when he said 'sustenance' that she knew only too well what she had to do.

He took a knife from his pocket and opened the blade. He knew she was watching him in horror; he could not bear to look at her. He drew the blade across his right wrist and when the first crimson trail of blood started to flow from the cut he held his arm out to her.

"Drink Buffy. You must get your strength back. It's safe to drink now." Their eyes met and he knew she understood his meaning; that what he was urging her to do would not turn her into a vampire. Buffy regarded his bloody wrist for a moment then lowered her head to surround the open vein with her mouth.

As Buffy began to suck and lap the precious liquid from his body, Spike felt a surge of euphoria he was not prepared for. He felt protective, nurturing, towards this injured waif who was now connected to him by blood. He shifted on to his hip, and, putting his left arm around Buffy's shoulder, he embraced her.

When he felt she had drunk enough for now he gently eased her away from his wrist, putting both arms round her and holding her tightly to his chest. She responded by wrapping her arms weakly around his waist, her hands spread flat against his back. It was a spontaneous gesture that gave them both comfort.

They sat hugging each other for a long time before Spike realised Buffy's grip had relaxed and she had fallen asleep. He rearranged her pillows and laid her gently back on the bed before stretching out beside her and drifting off to sleep himself.

The sun was already high when Buffy woke again and, surveying her surroundings, she noted she was alone. She found her pyjamas lying neatly alongside her and realised she was currently wearing a black t-shirt she didn't recognise. A black t-shirt? Like the ones Spike wears? Spike had dressed her? _("Ohmygod!")_ Where were her clothes? Her thoughts raced as she tried to make sense of what had happened to her. In seconds, she had throw off the t-shirt and wriggled painfully into her pyjamas. She eased herself back onto the pillows behind her so that she was half-sitting, half-lying in the bed. She did not have the strength to sit fully upright.

A few moments later Spike's head appeared at the opening to the basement, "You awake, slayer?" He could see that she was, and he said cheerily, "Good-oh! I'll be down in a jiff with a nice hot cup of tea."

His head disappeared from view leaving Buffy struggling to understand what was happening. It felt like she had entered some parallel universe where everything is in reverse to the way things are in her world. But the perplexing thing was, that as bizarre as her current situation seemed, it felt familiar to her, right somehow and she felt safe.

Good to his word, Spike re-appeared holding a mug of hot tea which he put down on the chest beside the bed. "So, how are you feeling?" he asked, as if the answer was of little concern to him.

"A bit muzzy," replied Buffy surprised at how weak her voice sounded. "What happened to me Spike. Why am I here?"

"What do you remember?" he asked, inclining his head, suddenly curious.

Buffy thought for a moment. "I remember being at the Bronze with Riley. Where's Riley?" she said, her voice rising with concern.

"Relax, slayer, Captain Cardboard is on manoeuvres with his part-time storm-troopers 'til the end of the week." Before Buffy could ask anything more about Riley, Spike continued, "Look Buffy, you've had quite an ordeal. A Triksus half-breed warlock kidnapped you from Riley's place. Laid a heavy controlling spell on you which can mess with your memory. Red told me you were missing and I found you and brought to back here. You can thank me now." He beamed.

Buffy tried to raise her head to respond but felt the effort was too much and her head fell backwards. She closed her eyes. Spike moved to sit by her side and gently pulled her into a sitting position, supporting her back against his chest. "Come on, pet, you need to drink." Then, feeling a slight tremor move though her, added quickly, "Your tea, love, drink your tea."

Spike raised the mug of tea to Buffy's lips. He sat with her while she drunk every last drop. When she had drifted back to sleep he found himself starring down at her, stroking her forehead and whispering to her that she would be alright, that he would look after her, that she was safe now.

By the time Buffy woke again, Willow had already visited and left for home, sorry not to see her friend awake but insistent that Spike let her sleep. Hearing her stir, Spike was soon at Buffy's side patiently spoon-feeding her hot chicken soup. "When you're feeling up to it, I'll get Red to fetch in some buffalo wings," he offered. Buffy pulled a face but she was too weak to debate Spike's choice of fast food.

After Buffy had eaten, Spike began reading to her from his celebrity TV guide, adding witty observations and reading quotes in funny voices. He updated her on the rumoured engagement of a minor film star to a would-be international model, confirmed the latest celebrity relationship break-ups, and informed her about the career aspirations of a soap star (who Spike made sound like Homer Simpson). Buffy said nothing but Spike knew she was listening because she smiled wanly at his commentary.

With the exception of the jagged wound to her foot, Buffy's cuts and grazes were no longer inflamed but Spike was concerned that she was still very weak and was not healing as quickly as she should, given her slayer powers. Before he left her to sleep Spike touched her arm gently and said softly, "You need your tonic, love. You have to drink again." Buffy nodded her reluctant agreement and Spike settled down on the bed alongside her.

He couldn't re-open the same cut again, because, even after he had licked it clean, it had become infected and was now red-lined and puffy, an indication of just how much poison was in Buffy's system. Instead, he cut across his other wrist and offered the life-giving liquor to Buffy. She readily accepted and Spike felt the same exhilarating rush of the evening before. While she drank, he used his free hand to support her so that her back was against his chest. He felt privileged to be able to help this woman and he revelled in the feeling.

When she had finished, Spike licked his wound clean and settled Buffy back down on the bed. As he went to leave her to sleep, Buffy gripped his arm and pulled him back down to her. He moved down to lie beside her and wrapped his arms round her. She nuzzled her head against his chest and if Spike had had a heart it would have soared.

As Buffy drifted off to sleep, Spike pondered the situation he found himself in and sighed. He was caring for this person, cared _about_ her. Her pain hurt him and he would gladly have suffered in her place. This seemed to fly in the face of commonsense; he was a vampire; she, the vampire slayer. But he could not deny his feelings nor could he bring himself to condemn them, as it all felt so right, so natural.

The next morning Spike felt Buffy stir against him so he gently slid from the bed and disappeared up the wooden steps. A few minutes later his was back at Buffy's side with more tea and a hot instant oat cereal. Buffy's eyes were brighter but she was still much weaker than Spike had hoped, although once he had propped her up in bed she did manage to eat her breakfast unaided.

Spike then fetched Buffy a bowl of warm water and a cloth and disappeared back upstairs to give her some privacy while she washed. After heating himself some pig's blood in the micro-wave he drunk it down hungrily, then made Buffy another mug of tea before descending the steps once more.

Buffy was more alert and was clearly rested if not yet brimming with energy. Although, Spike himself was very tired, having been awake most of the night both from habit and the constant churning of his thoughts, he started reading Alan Garner's 'Weirdstone of Brisingamen' out loud to Buffy.

He had taken to the book when he first read it over forty years ago now. The story was set in Alderley Edge, Cheshire, a place Spike had known well in a time before the last century when he had sought sanctuary there, having been driven from Yorkshire, by a vengeful mob, west over Ilkley Moor, then south over Saddleworth Moor and finally across the moors of the Peak District.

Later, noticing Buffy's attention wavering he put the book down and let her drift back to sleep. When he was certain she was sleeping soundly, he crept back upstairs, drank another mug of warmed blood and then settled down to sleep in the armchair, propping his feet on the edge of a small upturned coffin which served as a coffee table.

Willow woke Spike from a deep, dreamless sleep when she called round in the early evening, bringing fresh supplies. Buffy was awake and both friends hugged enthusiastically, pleased to see each other. Spike made tea for the three of them but took only two mugs down to Buffy and Willow, returning upstairs to drink his tea alone so that the girls could have some privacy. He soon dozed off and was awakened by Willow once again as she took her leave in order to return home before sunset.

"Spike," Willow said, looking grave, "I don't know why you are helping Buffy like this but I want to say thank you. Thank you for finding her, thank you for keeping her safe and thank you for looking after her. I know she is still very weak but I think she is only alive now because of what you have done for her." She kissed him softly on his cheek.

Looking at the floor Spike mumbled, "Just glad I could help, is all," hoping that Willow did not know the full, bloody extent of his assistance. If she noticed the fresh cuts on his wrists she didn't mention it and he didn't think Buffy would want to share that particular aspect of her care with her friend.

After Willow had gone, Spike descended into the basement, to find Buffy flicking through one of the magazines Willow had bought her. "Willow's been a real brick", he commented, as he perched on the end of the bed.

"She's not the only one," replied Buffy, smiling slightly. "Willow explained a bit about what has happened to me. Thank you for helping me, although I'm not sure why you are." Her last comment was more in the way of a question.

Spike chose to ignore it. "So what do you fancy for tea? I could drum up a mean pasta à la microwave?"

"That sounds very appetising," replied Buffy in a mocking tone, rolling her eyes.

"Sure thing you're feeling better," retorted Spike with a smile.

Spike disappeared upstairs to exercise his culinary talents while Buffy caught up with the latest in must-have gadgets (clearly Willow's choice of reading matter) and familiarised herself with this season's essential make-up styles.

Before she knew it, Spike had reappeared with a bowl of steaming pasta in a tomato and olive sauce with a garnish of _fresh_ basil. "I should warn you," Spike informed her, "there is garlic in that sauce."

"Garlic's good for you," Buffy replied.

Spike grimaced, "I guess it all depends on your perspective."

Spike and Buffy spent the evening chatting away like old friends who hadn't seen each other for weeks. They discussed the articles Buffy had read in the magazines Willow had bought her, argued over the effects of global warming (Spike's concern fuelled by the changes he had seen during his afterlife) and swapped their favourite fight stories. Buffy even laughed at times.

It pleased Spike that Buffy was so animated but she was still very pale and not healing as fast as she should. He was particularly concerned about the gash on her foot, which looked worse than it did when he had first cleaned it. He had been regularly licking it clean and had been applying an antiseptic cream he had asked Willow to get for him, but the edges of the wound were red and inflamed.

As Buffy started to tire, Spike made her an instant malt drink and began reading from the 'Weirdstone' again.

Before she was sleepy enough to doze, Spike put the book down and asked apologetically, "You know what I am going to ask you to do now? Just this one last time. To build your strength up and boost your healing powers."

Buffy smiled gently at him. "Are you sure it's ok, safe I mean?"

"I wouldn't do anything to harm you, love," he replied quietly with conviction.

"No, I don't mean me. Safe for _you_."

Spike looked embarrassed and said softly, "Bless you, love, it's fine. Don't worry".

He moved to the head of the bed and Buffy shifted over to make room for him to sit next to her. This time he turned her towards him, made a small incision in the side of his neck, and tilted his head to expose the wound, his eyes willing her to drink.

Buffy put her arms around his neck and began to suckle, sending a powerful wave of pleasure through Spike. He enveloped her with his arms and held her tight to him.

Spike let Buffy drink long and deep.

When she eventually lifted her head, she stared intensely into Spike's vivid blue eyes, as if desperately trying to convey something to him. "What is it, pet?" he breathed.

Buffy moved her head closer and pressed her lips to his. Unsure how to respond, Spike returned the kiss, hugging her even tighter to him and moving a hand to cradle her head. _("Oh god, Buffy.")_

Buffy's lips parted and Spike's tongue was suddenly tasting her and tasting his own blood. His entire being buzzed with excitement and for a moment he rejoiced.

But Spike was unnerved too. Somehow this wasn't right. Not now. He would be taking advantage of their situation and he couldn't countenance that. He pushed Buffy gently away, and looking into her warm green eyes, he whispered, "Time you got some sleep, love."

For a fleeting moment he thought he saw sorrow in her eyes and he was struck with the sudden fear that he had hurt her feelings. But the moment was gone and he helped Buffy to settle down into bed, he again lying alongside her with his arms holding her firmly. She snuggled against him and he realised she was already asleep.

Before Spike too succumbed to his tiredness, he tried to rationalise what had happened and what he was feeling. What he felt for Buffy surpassed anything he had felt for Drusilla. He had loved Drusilla so what did that mean for his feelings towards Buffy.

They should be mortal enemies; slayer versus vampire. But he didn't feel that, and he hadn't felt that in Buffy when she had kissed him.

It was easy to explain Buffy's actions. She was still ill from the controlling spell and she had confused gratitude for being rescued with something else.

But what was Spike's excuse. Perhaps he was attracted to the 'Buffy' part of Buffy, rather than her slayer part. That would make more sense, but he knew it wasn't the answer. Buffy _was_ the slayer, the two were indivisible and he knew the combination was part of the attraction for him.

As sleep finally overtook him, Spike came to a realisation, a revelation. He didn't understand the reason for it, but he understood the result; he was in love with Buffy Summers.

The next two days passed quickly as Buffy regained her strength rapidly, only the wound on her foot still giving Spike a little cause for concern. Spike also suspected that Buffy's memory of her capture and rescue had come back to her, but she didn't say anything to him about it directly.

They rose late each morning and didn't fall asleep until nearly dawn. They spent their days talking, reading and watching TV, Spike helping Buffy gingerly up and down the basement steps. They chatted about every conceivable topic and they reminisced about old music hits. Spike was surprisingly knowledgeable about female singer/songwriters and girl bands, which left him open to much ribbing from Buffy.

Spike finished reading Buffy the 'Weirdstone' and tucked the book into her holdall when she wasn't looking.

They both felt at ease in each other's company and seemed to genuinely enjoy their time together. Consciously or not, neither wanted this time to end.

Spike continued to cook filling, fast food and make a wicked mug of tea.

Buffy no longer needed Spike's blood and neither of them mentioned their kiss.

Soon Buffy was well enough to go home without raising suspicions that she had been ill. She still limped slightly from the gash in her foot but she was going to explain that away by saying she had cut herself on some litter buried in the sand at Santa Monica Beach. Spike had even managed to find a carrier bag from an exclusive Hollywood store to support her cover story of her trip to LA.

As the morning of Buffy's departure dawned there was a noticeable change in the atmosphere in Spike's crypt. Conversations were brief and neither looked at the other. Buffy refused Spike's offer of cereal for breakfast saying she wasn't hungry. Spike brewed them both some tea but neither of them emptied their mugs.

Spike didn't want Buffy to leave but he felt powerless to stop her. What could he say to her? What could he offer her? And why would she want to have anything to do with a vampire who couldn't even be a proper vampire because of the chip in his brain that prevented him from harming humans? He was a joke.

When Buffy had packed her holdall and was finally ready to leave, she turned to see Spike staring at her. "What the matter?" she asked.

"Oh, I've just been wondering why you haven't staked me yet," Spike replied, with a sideways look.

Buffy looked at him in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"Well," he continued, "I think I've worked it out." He folded his arms across his chest defensively. "You don't stake me for the same reason that I don't kill you."

"Excuse me?" Buffy was stunned.

"It's the chip!" Spike announced. "You don't stake me, because I can't kill you, can't kill anyone, because of the chip. I'm not a threat, so I'm not fair game. Remove the chip and all bets are off!"

"Spike, what are you saying?"

"Just saying, the chip is what stops us from killing each other. Take the chip away and I become a slayer-killing vampire, you a vampire slayer."

Moving towards the door to the crypt Buffy started to laugh. "No Spike, you're wrong."

"No I'm bloody not! And you know it."

"Well," Buffy conceded. "You're right about one thing; we do both have the same reason for not killing each other."

"Told you so!"

"But," continued Buffy, smiling gently, "you're wrong about the reason. It's not the chip. The reason I don't kill you is because _I love you_!" And with that Buffy turned and stepped into the bright sunshine and a new future.

Fin


End file.
